


Soft And Timeless Days

by callmedok



Category: Brütal Legend, Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath, Amnesia, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Battle Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: Sasha muses on partial retirement, and makes some coffee.





	Soft And Timeless Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonicsora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicsora/gifts), [MatchstickDhole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchstickDhole/gifts).



> This is based on an AU sonicsora showed me a snippet of, where Sasha got into a psychic battle and ended up in a coma. He got trapped in a strange 1950s, 1960s dream, and it...wasn't great. I slammed on the metaphorical table and went 'recovery time!' and this was the end result. It gets referenced, so there's the run-down.

Waking up nowadays is gentle, easy.

There’s rarely an alarm set, their bed is placed just right so sunlight doesn’t end up in the eyes, and the mattress is ridiculously comfortable. No more motel beds or tour bus bunks, just a nice king-size that either one of them can roll out of without disturbing the other. Perks of being retired or, at least, as retired as either of them could be.

An arm sneaks out from under the covers, fumbles blindly at the nightstand until fingers curl around a pair of glasses. They disappear under the blankets and a man slowly sits up, blinking and running a hand through messy hair. It sticks up in weird tufts, and when he runs his fingers on part of the undercut he grimaces. When it got to the fuzzy stage, he always had to make a mental note to get it cut again.

He squints at the alarm clock, before waving a hand its directions with a dismissive “Ach.”

9 AM was a later start than he’d like, but… he’s come to appreciate these moments, even if it meant missing out on waking up next to his husband. Becoming a consultant rather than an agent meant a much looser schedule, and half the time he didn’t even need to leave home to do it. A later start was no longer a life or death decision, just barely worth a brief acknowledgement.

He snags a sweater from the closet, not even paying attention to what he grabs. It ends up being black with gray stripes, smells like stale cigarettes when he pulls it over his head, and the shoulders are too broad, the sleeves too long. Perfect to say the least to wander the house in, still in his sleep pants.

It was…strange still, being out of the field. Some days he woke up thinking Milla would be in the other room, or expecting notes from Ford about a case to covertly investigate. Other days his memories weren’t quite right where Eddie became Ed, Milla was an extremely distant coworker, and Ford was some kind of vague father-boss figure. The only thing that kept him from drifting too far tended to be photos, things that were nigh-impossible or completely different from the strange memory world he’d been trapped in.

A photo of a younger self with Ford practicing telekinesis, where Ford had used it to take the photo. He and Milla on a mission requiring a disguise, which she’d managed to get from security footage of the event. One of him and Eddie at the Seattle Aquarium, another of that time Eddie managed to drag him to a metal show.

…Unsurprisingly, most of the photos are either him with Milla, or with Eddie. The ones with Ford are creased and soft around the edges from being handled too many times before framing, or sharp glossy ones from official events. The senior agent even appeared to have some color in his hair, and today Sasha lingers over those photos on the wall the most. Looking at himself in the official uniform, smiling slightly with Ford’s hand resting on his shoulder, and wondering if his younger self would be… disappointed, or ashamed of how he’s ended up.

Would it even matter, that it hadn’t been in his control? That surviving the psychic battle is a one in a million chance, the fact that he’d even recovered this well was a miracle?

There’s an edge of bitterness as he laughs under his breath, recalling a mumble by some faceless agent about how the student took after the teacher. With that thought he turns away, fingers brushing the bottom of the frame, and continues to the kitchen. Must be a good day, if he can remember that whisper from when he was leaving headquarters for the last time as an agent.

Nowadays, he visited at most once or twice a month, case files in hand. Taking a support role as he dug into backgrounds and related case-files, finding the links where none had previously been seen. It soothed that urge to help, to do something with his life, but it didn’t feel like enough. It might never be enough when compared to the fluid grace that’d been fighting side by side with Milla, that inner glow of a case closed successfully, no causalities to report or too much property damage that couldn’t be smoothed over easily. The comforting weight of Milla’s arm hooked in his as they walked side by side, her mind buzzing against his in familiarity.

Pulling down a mug that turns out to have a strange neon design, he sighs and sets it near the coffee maker.

He'd probably always miss it, if the proof of Milla’s strange taste in gifts makes his chest ache like he’s been winded. It was always the small things that hurt the most.

While he’s leaning against the counter, flipping through his work notebook as he waits for the coffee to brew, there’s the crunch of wheels digging into dropped branches out front. It’s accompanied by the faint muffled sounds of some kind of loud, agitated, pounding music, and he smiles. Releases the telepathic grip around the mug near the coffee maker, the other hovering near the cluttered sink, because old habits die hard.

The music cuts out, and the front steps creak. The front door doesn’t slam open, which earns a raised eyebrow and faint smile, and he looks down to his notebook again. Notes down a strange bank transfer in the margins, a request to have the other person’s files sent to him, and the brush of another mind against his is… soothing, familiar, even with his weakened range.

And even if it’s the early chill of October, golden and orange and brown leaves falling by the dozen, for a moment it feels like a summer afternoon. Warm and comforting, and it’s the snatches of music he mentally overhears that seal the deal. Anyone could play metal, could use heavy duty tires on their car to get up the rough path. But in all his years as an agent, very few could disguise the feeling of their mind.

Eddie had never been one of them, even if his love for metal seemed to obscure his inner thoughts.

He stays where he is, leaning against the counter taking notes, even as he hears Eddie humming under his breath. Doesn’t even look up as he makes a beeline to the fridge, and nearly laughs when his husband startles at the coffee maker going off. “Morning,” he says instead, smiling slightly at Eddie’s wide eyed expression that turns into an easy grin within seconds.

Any other time he’d be tempted to kiss it away, but this is…nice, and gentle in a way he can’t quite phrase. The way Eddie is looking at him, something soft in his eyes, and something about his posture loosening as he leans against the fridge. The easy silence that fills in the quiet, somehow makes the room feel more alive just because they’re both here.

Maybe retirement wasn’t so bad, with moments like this to ease the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Last Rose of Summer by Judas Priest, based on something sonicsora said when I was asking about how Eddie would read to Sasha psychically.  
> She said 'Sasha doesn't pick up thoughts as much as random heavy metal music [...] Eddie feels very warm and comforting, like a nice summer afternoon.'
> 
> And buds, that's some sweetness right there. Another track that goes along with this is Hey Sha La-La by 2wo because Rob Halford is my _dude_ when it comes to romancey metal songs.


End file.
